Peeta's Rescue
by larissaRN
Summary: So I decided to write something from Peeta's POV when he is brought to district 13. Still new to writing fanfiction but I am an avid reader. I enjoy Peeta's POV and have also included other POV so far in this story. Reviews would be nice! :)
1. Chapter 1

It's bright. My eyes burn, water, sting. It's so loud, voices buzzing and warbling to me, through me. Colours blur and spin. My body hurts. I didn't realize there could be so many layers of pain, types of pain arching from the ends of my hair to the ends of my toe nails. There is the sensation of hands grabbing and pulling at me. I want to hit out, make them stop touching me. I would, too, if only I could force my limbs to cooperate and use my voice for something other than screaming. Screaming. Another part of me that's broken, I am hoarse, voice almost gone.

I can see more clearly now. People wearing institutional gray jumpsuits. I'm on a stretcher of sorts in a cement walled room. It has the sensation of being underground. I'm not sure how I know this, but I think you just feel it and know. I'm trembling, whether from cold or shot nerves or fear I'm not certain. I can't bring myself to answer their questions. Probing me for answers to the tortures I've endured.

I hear the people in gray commenting about the bruising and cuts to my face and body. I hear them whisper about the skeletal appearance of my body sparking discussion about re-feeding, dehydration, and IV fluids. I feel a cuff around my arm become tighter and see it slowly deflate. A beeping sound initiates more discussion about low blood pressure and tachycardia. I want to yell and hit out because they are touching me. I just want to be left alone, but I am too weak to fight them anymore. They ask me questions more urgently now.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Can you tell us your name?"

"Do you know the date?"

All I know is who I am. I don't respond to them out loud. A dark haired man wearing a serious and open expression steps forward. He moves into my line of sight and asks me to keep my head still and warns me he would be using a light to look at my eyes. I brace myself because my eyes, while they have adjusted, continue to water and burn. I flinch when his hand makes contact with my head, and he asks me to again keep still. He flashes the light quickly into both eyes. I can't help it. I look away. I flash back to the torture and am lost to the world for a moment that feels like an eternity. I come back and feel my body relax slightly from my intense rigidity. The people are murmuring amongst each other. The dark haired man pulls rubber tubing with ear pieces off of his neck. He begins to explain he is going to listen to my chest with it when I hear footsteps pounding outside of the door and louder voices from that direction. I feel my heart speed up, tripping over itself as I breathe faster. I am scared and confused. Are they here to help me or hurt me? The door behind me opens. I hear Johanna making a commotion and people in the room turn to the door. I do too because I can't bring myself to leave my back unprotected.

I see her. Katniss. No. I can't let her near me. How can they not know the evil she's done, and if they do know, how can they stand to let her walk among them. She approaches, teeth bared, arms extended. NO! Don't touch me! I have to kill her first before she kills me, hurts me, like she always does. I grasp her throat tightly. I can hear her breath stutter, croak, and wheeze. I hear it stop entirely as my grip tightens further. She turns a shade of purple I've only ever seen in the Capitol. Her eyes become blood shot with tears streaming down her cheeks. I feel her nails scrape against my wrists, feebly now as I watch the light leave her eyes. I feel a sharp pain deep in my skull. Darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

I walk into the observation area for patient Peeta Mellark. I know Alma Coin did not anticipate retrieving him in this state. Tortured, injured, perhaps some mental health issues yes. Hijacking is something I don't think any of us in 13 anticipated. The boy went after the one person he claimed to love the most and would sacrifice his life to protect. Needless to say it was a shock when I saw the recording Plutarch shared of the reunion of Katniss and Peeta. I focus not on the act of strangling itself, but on the micro expressions visible on my patients face. There is anger, yes, but there is also fear evident in his expression. His actions seem almost robotic. He does not hesitate in attacking Ms. Everdeen and is single minded in his actions. No fear of the repercussions or harm to himself, as evidenced by the staff in the room having to restrain him and knock him unconscious to stop him. President Snow has a mind I would not dare to examine. He has hit both of these young people where it hurts the most.

I look at the real life Peeta lying motionless in the stretcher in the stark and bare room. He has been sedated for the time being so that medical staff can obtain blood samples do further scans on his battered body. From the results we know there is still venom present in his bloodstream, and I anticipate he will experience something akin to withdrawal as it slowly leaves his system in his stay here. The body scans have shown multiple fractures in various states of healing. His brain scans show healing concussions and minor bleeds. His vital signs have been out of normal range, but that is to be expected as he is severely malnourished, dehydrated, and has been pumped full of a venom that induces tachycardia and incredible levels of adrenaline to be produced. His mental state is not unexpected given what has been done to him physically.

**2 Days Later**

They have decided to slowly take my patient off the sedatives and begin assessments and treatment for his psychological state upon arrival here in District 13. I stand once again behind the one way mirror and watch medical staff move about around his frail body as a unit completing tasks smoothly and efficiently. How very 13 of them. They are not who I should be observing though and my attention is once again on Peeta Mellark. He remains in soft restraints bound to the bed as I decide I should be in the room as he awakens. I nod to the other doctors on the team as I pass by and exit the observation room and walk down the hall and enter through the door into my patients room. I seat myself in his chair and begin to wait patiently for him to wake up.

Minutes pass by and I watch as Peeta's breathing changes from the slow, even, peace of sleep to the kind of awareness. I watch his limbs twitch and hear a ragged groan as he shakes his back and forth as if shaking of the forced sleep of the sedatives. Blue eyes open now but squint and I watch his arm move to rub the sleep from his eyes. Of course he is unable to complete the action and I prepare myself for a reaction of panic or fear at being in an unfamiliar place and unable to move. I wait, but see no obvious signs of this. I see his body tense, but Peeta doesn't even bother shouting or fighting the restraints. I decide to initiate the conversation and obtain a baseline for how alert and oriented he is at this time.

"Peeta?" I say softly, in as warm a tone as I can manage.

I wait for him to say something or search for my voice. Still nothing. I decide to get up and approach the bed. I am right beside him now.

"Peeta I am a Doctor. I am not here to hurt you. You are safe now. Can you answer some questions for me?" His eyes water and he struggles to maintain a neutral expression. His breathing becomes faster and more shallow. I don't want to frighten him more but we need to know if he is aware of where he is and what his thought process and content are at this time. We have to determine if he is experiencing psychosis or hallucinations from the venom still. As he has expressed in the past giving his own life for Katniss Everdeen I am also suspecting that he is also likely to be or become suicidal in our care.

A tiny nod. For someone who I have seen as very verbal in the past, the lack of speech is unnerving to me.

"Okay. Peeta, do you know where you are right now?"

Another affirmative nod.

"I need you to use your words Peeta. Please."

In a broken and raspy whisper he responds, "13. They took me."

"That's right. They rescued you from the Capitol. From President Snow. Do you feel safe here Peeta?"

The boy is good at controlling his expressions, but I am better at reading expressions and body language. I can tell he is terrified, confused, and overwhelmed.

"I don't know."

My goal is for my patient to at the very least feel safe while he is here.

"I have told you Peeta, you are safe here." Before I can continue it is like a switch is flipped. The mask of control shatters like a sheet of glass.

"No! Nowhere is safe! Not in the Capitol. And not here. With HER!"

And before I can even begin to respond he upright as high as the restraints will allow. He uses all four limbs to pull and thrash and he bucks his body in a surge of activity that shocks me into moving back and away from him. He is screaming incoherently now. Broken sentences that have no sense and no context.

The door opens and several people walk in briskly, all dressed in the medical uniform of white. Two of the larger men approach the bed, and seeing this, Peeta begins to fight even harder. His screams making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. In the back corner a nurse is instructed to fill a syringe with a dose of sedative. As she approaches the bed I watch her steel herself before exposing my patient's shoulder to administer it. Seeing the approaching needle Peeta becomes surprisingly wilder. Who knew this fragile body could struggle as much as he his. Fear is an amazing motivator. Another two people physically restrain him to stop him from thrashing from side to side. As the dose is injected Peeta is reduced to infant like wails. My heart pulls at the sound. At moments like this it is difficult to remain professional with my patients. Even though I know it is for the best that Peeta rest as much as possible in the early days of recovery to keep his levels of adrenaline down there is a part of me that does not want to sedate him. The more we sedate him the more often he will have to awaken in a confused state bound to a stretcher. It seems I have a lot to think about and plan for the treatment of Peeta Mellark. Over time he should be able to realize we will not harm him and that Katniss Everdeen is not dangerous or lethal, but he is also the first hijacking case the District has ever seen. They have only heard of cases like this. The history of cases like this is not pleasant and I have no archived methods of treatment. I prepare myself for the long hours of conversation that will occur when I leave this room. I will be getting to know Peeta Mellark very well, it seems.


	3. Chapter 3

Haymitch POV

I am a survivor. Unfortunately I lost the boy. Like a pawn in a chess game, Snow took Peeta out, but instead of tossing him to the side of the board Snow decided to turn him to the other side. He tortured the boy, broke him, and damaged him in ways that will haunt me of my decision the same as every child stolen from 12 continues to haunt me decades later. Coin and Plutarch argued heavily over which of the kids to save, and once again I chose what I thought to be the winning option. Honestly, I didn't believe that Peeta would be able to function at all if he knew Katniss was taken. His sole focus would be on getting her back. Katniss doesn't think that way. She and I think alike. Survival. She knows, at least I think she does, that the only way for both of them to survive would be to take the Capitol out. I don't think she fully realizes it yet because she always thinks in the short term. This rebellion would have happened no matter what. If Snow had not made the decision to put victors in the Quell, the opportune time to rebel would have been prolonged. I know she would have come to the realization that her future, and the boy's future, would not include their survival in that scenario. Snow would find a way to kill them eventually. Still, I made my decision and now I have to live with it. Without the numbing effects of liquor in my system our current reality is slowly driving me to an early grave. Withdrawal sucks. Period. The shakes, nausea, hallucinations, and terrors. Everything nasty comes out slowly and painfully like squeezing pus from a wound. And now I have no coping mechanism. I'm unable to push away my demons and bury them like a dog with old bones.

Right now I am slumped in a stiff chair in the boy's observation room where I have remained for the last 8 hours. I am exhausted, stressed, and sick to my stomach, and I'm trying desperately to not let it show. It is quiet in the room right now. The boy is still sedated and the team of doctors are sleeping while he is, much like a parent does with a newborn. I finally have some time to reflect on what has happened in the last 24 hours. I have been doing my best to keep Katniss going and participate in this damn rebellion. Peeta's attack has done exactly what Snow intended. This has been a long game of breaking Katniss and inciting her to fall apart worse and worse every time. Katniss has other people who can help her though. Peeta, he has no one here. No family. No friends that he can trust. We haven't yet found anyone he knows that won't trigger his rage and fear. I haven't been in there yet. I am afraid of his judgement. Before all of this after Peeta's first games he never once brought up the fact that I chose to support Katniss over him. Peeta was too good of a person to judge or hate me for that decision, mostly because he doesn't think at all about his own survival. Stupid boy. Now that I've witnessed the attack on Katniss and the ranting and raving that followed I am certain this has changed. His hatred and blame will surely tip me over the edge.

The door that leads to the hall opens, and I see the glint of blonde hair swinging through the cracked doorway. Primrose eases her way into the room and shares a knowing look with me. For such a young, and truly caring girl, she carries herself with a wisdom and grace of someone much older than her years.

"Hey Haymitch. Did he wake up at all yet?"

I can't maintain my usual surly behaviour with this child.

"No. Not yet."

Primrose is silent, solemnly nodding her head at my response.

"The doctors say he was hijacked. That the Capitol has turned Peeta against my sister, and the rebellion."

I look at her more directly, and she meets my gaze with her determined sky blue eyes as if to challenge what they've determined.

"And what do you think, Prim?"

She sets her mouth in a firm line before saying, in a steely tone that reminds me of the way her father looked when he talked of rebellion, "I disagree. He's still in there, I know it. People don't know it, but I've talked with Peeta a lot over the last year. He loves my sister, probably more than I've ever seen another person love someone. It's not just love. He was completely devoted to Katniss. He knew her flaws, but loved her despite them. The Capitol may have screwed with his thinking, and tortured him to the point where he doesn't even know what is real anymore, but I know he can beat this. He has to. Because, then what's point of everything? What's the point in fighting the bad guys if the good guys just give up? We can't give up on Peeta, Haymitch, because it would be like saying Snow and the Capitol won."

I am speechless. This little girl has just shown every adult up in this place with that statement right there. This is why we need to keep fighting. For the young people right now and those to come, because they are the future.

I can't bring myself to provide my usual sarcastic reply in the face of Primrose Everdeen. So I break the stare first and nod my head once in acknowledgement. I take a deep breath and sigh heavily, wearily. I was momentarily uplifted, but the stress of the situation remains. Enough thinking. It's time to put my thoughts into action.

I stand up, stretch, feel my old bones creak in protest, and head in the direction of the doctors quarters.


End file.
